tonight is the highschool graduation the culmination of teenagers saying i want sex
and to be alone. past the football field the spruces begin. a homemade crucifix stapled
to one. twenty years ago now. the split dead trunk under spruce leaves freshly
pollinated. they hang
like flattened tongue tips. past the cul de sac no longer a wound. a pickup truck
half on half off the curb plays a dead boy band. gowns lifted and grinding in the bed.
goodbyes are so selfish. to miss what you’ve gone away from and
to miss it again when it doesn’t survive.